University of Montana ScholarWorks at University of Montana Graduate Student Theses, Dissertations, & Professional Papers Graduate School 1997 Walk me Home| A story Woody Beardsley The University of Montana Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.umt.edu/etd Let us know how access to this document benefits ou.y Recommended Citation Beardsley, Woody, "Walk me Home| A story" (1997). Graduate Student Theses, Dissertations, & Professional Papers. 4034. https://scholarworks.umt.edu/etd/4034 This Thesis is brought to you for free and open access by the Graduate School at ScholarWorks at University of Montana. It has been accepted for inclusion in Graduate Student Theses, Dissertations, & Professional Papers by an authorized administrator of ScholarWorks at University of Montana. For more information, please contact [email protected]. Maureen and Mike MANSFIELD LIBRARY The University ofMONTANA Permission is granted by the author to reproduce this material in its entirety, provided that this material is used for scholarly purposes and is properly cited in published works and reports. ** Please check "Yes" or "No" and provide signature ** Yes, I grant permission No, I do not grant permission Author's Signature Any copying for commercial purposes or financial gain may be undertaken only with the author's explicit consent. Walk Me Home A Story Woody Beardsley B.A. Lewis and Clark College, 1986 presented in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Science The University of Montana 1997 Approved by: Dean, Graduate School Date UMI Number: EP34176 All rights reserved INFORMATION TO ALL USERS The quality of this reproduction is dependent on the quality of the copy submitted. In the unlikely event that the author did not send a complete manuscript and there are missing pages, these will be noted. Also, if material had to be removed, a note will indicate the deletion. UMT UMI EP34176 Copyright 2012 by ProQuest LLC. All rights reserved. This edition of the work is protected against unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States Code. ProQuest' ProQuest LLC. 789 East Eisenhower Parkway P.O. Box 1346 Ann Arbor, Ml 48106-1346 Table of Contents Missoula 1 Denver, Colorado 6 Chief Joseph Pass 13 The Beaverhead 19 Centennial Valley 32 Yellowstone 48 Great Divide Basin 65 Home Stretch 98 ii Missoula I went to the supermarket, got a cart and proceeded to load it full of food. Starting in the first lane, the candy isle, I threw in twelve bags of mini Snickers bars, six boxes of Twix Singles and one Almond Joy for good measure. Across the isle was the powdered Gatorade drink mix where labels announced two gallons and a free scoop. I threw six containers into my cart. From there I wound through the store loading up on six and twelve of almost everything on my torn yellow list. I hit the pasta row, the peanut butter and jelly section, the breakfast cereal shelves, the crackers, canned-fish, brown sugar, plastic zip-lock baggies and plain black tea lanes before I finally found myself heading for the checkout isle. Damn! There was a line. My plan had back-fired. I was not the only guy in Missoula, Montana who thought the twenty-four hour market would be empty at midnight. And because it was late, there was only one checkout open. With the grace of a river barge brimming with wood-pulp, I eased my overloaded cart into line. There was a huge man, obese really, in the queue in front of me with a bag of chips and a quart of chocolate milk, no cart. He was wearing a gold double-knit blazer, the uniform of a national firm. Its royal crest read "your Real Estate neighbor." I have a deep, and irrational bad attitude towards real-estate brokers so I was going to try and ignore this guy- As he shelved the bow-hunting magazine and put his stuff on the black cashier's conveyor, he turned and glanced at my cart. A curious look of both interest and concern broke over his now ruddy face. "You got kids?" he asked for both he and the gal now bagging groceries who seemed interested in my load. "Me? Oh, no." I said kind of amused. "Just stocking up." 1 2 With that the store's night manager came up and said, "I can get you going over here" as he grabbed the front of my cart and eased me toward the next isle. As I piled my goods on the spinning conveyor the large real-estate guy who was now leaving, stopped at the bagging end of the cashier's counter and picked up the conversation right where he'd left it. "You know that's mostly junk food don't you?" He said pointing at the candy bars and the small mountain of sardine cans I loaded onto the conveyor. "Yeah, but it's high in calories." I said being sure he'd note the irony in my voice. "Yeeeess. Most junk food is. That's why it's called junk food." he said sarcastically trying to hide his impatience. He was dying to know what all this food was for, as now too were the store manager and the sack girl. But I held out. "One man's trash is another man's treasure," I said stupidly then added "And besides I need the calories." "What for? Hunting season doesn't start for four months." "Well, I'm going on a long camping trip of sorts and I'm not going to have a chance to..." "Where you going?" he interrupted. "I'm walking to Denver." I said and for the first time really looked right at the guy It made him a little uncomfortable. "Colorado?" he asked as he shifted his glance at the cashier. "Yep." I looked at the cashier too and he was grinning with delight. My mood picked up. "Wow! That's great." he said "How long do you think it will take you? Are you hiking the Continental Divide?" I liked the store manager. He was a big help and he asked good questions. "Yeah, I'll be trying to follow the divide, but I'm not exactly sure how long it will take. About nine weeks if I start here in Missoula. Eight if I start on Chief Joseph Pass." He kept 3 busy passing items over the checkout laser beam. The big real-estate guy stayed right where he was. He was listening and now he looked incredulous. My mood dipped again. "I hope you're planning on taking more than this. This will never be enough food." And before I could respond he just kept on and said," You know you can get this stuff in bulk. You'd save a lot of money and you wouldn't have to deal with all the packaging. If I were going on a hike like that, I'd buy everything in bulk. And I'd get a bunch of freeze-dried food too." "Uh huh." I said, trying not to look at him. "You know they make this camping stuff that comes ready-to-eat, just add water. You can get spaghetti dinners, lasagna, beef stew. I like the eggs. You know you can have freeze- dried eggs for breakfast, or pancakes. They even come with syrup." As he droned on and on, he was sure I was listening but my mind was screaming. Who is this guy? Should I tell him I've already bought all my bulk foods at the Good Food Store? Do I tell him this stuff is cheaper and will make packing easier? Should I tell him I'd rather starve than buy any of that trendy, expensive, freeze-dried, yuppie, camping gruel in the shinny mylar bags? Should I tell him how much I hate grocery stores? How they make me claustrophobic and anxious about all the crap we consume? How I was sure the ocean of cardboard in this store alone was pushing us all into an extinction vortex? Should I tell him that what and how I decide to spend my summer is my own damned business and that the last thing in the world I was worried about was that some overweight land-shark in a goddamned gold blazer thought I was buying junk food? No. I held my tongue. Instead, I lied. "Nope. This is all the food I'm taking for three months." I said and added, "But I'm carrying a fly rod and a sling-shot. I hope to eat trout and grouse all the way to Denver." I smiled really big. "All this stuff is just back-up. It'll keep me from feeding on tourists." 4 The store manager laughed and the big man turned toward the door and said, "Well good luck." He slung his little plastic bag over his shoulder and huffed, "Whatever you do, don't starve to death!" I kind of laughed with the cashier and started to write out a check. He was still grinning, and I took it he was sympathetic to my cause. Then turning back to his interest in my plans he matter of factly said "You'll be using skis or snowshoes." What? I thought to myself. Then I realized he was speaking about all the weather we'd been getting. It was the middle of May and we were having the wettest Spring in years. Chief Joseph Pass, about 90 miles south of Missoula, had gotten 18 inches of snow just the day before. "Oh, well, if the snow-pack is still high when I start, I'll be taking shoes." I only partially lied.